


Siren Song

by MurderBaby



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Blood Drinking, Codependency, Ficlets, M/M, Ocean, Sailing, mermaid au, siren au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-01-20 12:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12433233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurderBaby/pseuds/MurderBaby
Summary: An unlikely friendship between a sailor and a siren leaves both of them forever changed.





	1. Square

**Author's Note:**

> This story is really closer to a series of vignettes for my Siren AU, which I started writing first as a response to a prompt, and then in order to conquer writer's block. Now it's something...else? But, it's still mostly a series of loosely related mini-stories. Fair warning going in.

"Just picture a square," Gon suggested, as he held the two ropes in his hand. "It's not the most secure way to join ropes, but it is fast and easy to remember. Do you wanna try?"

Icy cold hands bumped against Gon's hand as they took the ropes. The fingers were long, and ended in sharp, blue nails. Or even claws. Gon stared at the hands as they formed a knot quickly, and nearly perfectly.

Gon chuckled, a little sheepish. He looked up. The eyes that looked back at him were wide set, and dark blue. The face resembled a human's face, but that's where the similarities ended. Instead of hair, his new friend sported fans of silver-white fins. His skin, his scales, were iridescent blue.

And, of course, instead of legs, his friend had a long, powerful tail like a fish.

"That was not very hard," his friend told him. Gon watched the mouth move, at least, with sharp white teeth flashing as it did, but he didn't really hear it. The words seemed like they came from within his own chest and head, echoing inside him like when he heard the beat of a huge drum.

"No, it's one of the first knots we learn how to make," Gon agreed, smiling as wide as he could remember smiling in the past few weeks. His voyage had been a huge failure, but now, all he could focus on was how amazing everything was.

"Show me something hard. Something impressive," his friend insisted, tossing the knotted ropes aside.

"Well, I need to climb up there next, and work on fixing some parts of the rigging. That would be pretty hard for anyone, but especially..."

Gon looked down at his friend's tail. His friend scoffed.

"If you can do it, I can definitely do it. You walkers cannot even breath water, and you are trying to tell me I cannot beat you up there?"

"Wanna race, then?" Gon asked, more than a little morbidly curious to see how his friend managed this.

"Okay, on the count of three," his friend agreed, pulling himself over onto his belly, and bending his arms into a crouch.

"One."

"Two."

"Thre.... hey wait! Killua!" Gon shouted, but his voice breaking into a flock of giggles. His new friend moved incredibly fast, and it was amazing to see, but also...

"It is not Killua! It is..." his friend shouted, and then unleashed an unrepeatable series of whines and guttural roars that Gon had heard initially as "Killua." His blue claws already grabbed for the rope ladder, pulling himself up hand over hand. Gon rushed to keep up. Gon did manage to beat Killua, but only just barely. He offered his new friend his hand to help hoist him onto the crossbeam.

"You're amazing, Killua."

Killua let out a couple of quick clicks, and looked away as he took Gon's hand.

"Thank you for letting me stay up here with you," Killua said, once he was seated. "I do not think I am ready to go back home, yet."

"I know what you mean," Gon said. "I'm in the same boat. Almost literally."

Killua finally looked at him straight on.

"I want you to come into the ocean with me tonight."

Gon gulped. His heart kept racing, but this had nothing to do with the climb he just finished.

"Are you sure?"

Killua nodded. He'd been insistent, almost violently so, that Gon could not accompany him into the waters at night. That something terrible would happen.

"I have to show you something. It is important."

Gon nodded. Killua was a siren. And long before Gon had even tied his first knot, Gon learned the most important rule of sailing.

"Never, ever follow a siren."

Gon nodded again.

"I'd follow you anywhere, Killua."

Killua looked away again, and his skin shimmered in the fading light of sunset.

"Idiot."


	2. Fishing

The thin light of sunset sharpened Killua's face into brutal, predatory lines. It sank his blue eyes deep into pools of dark ichor. Teeth flashed like shadow daggers, all in a perfect, murderous row.

Gon could not look away. He hated the flood of shame that tugged and tossed his stomach like a ship in a stormy sea. His instinct forced down gulps of fear, because Killua was not a human. He was a siren.

Killua was a monster.

"Gon, come here and fix this. I did it exactly like you said, but it still does not look right."

Gon smiled, despite his racing heart, and the smile was genuine.

"What do you mean, it looks fine to me," Gon said, gently grabbing the small, oblong shape Killua handed him. They'd found a perfect piece of bobbing drift wood that Gon yanked on board. Together, they carved away softly shaped cubes of wood, and Gon showed Killua how to whittle away an appealing shape to hang their fishing hooks from.

"It does not look fine. Yours looks better," Killua hissed, crossing his arms petulantly. "Yours looks beautiful. Mine does not. That is unfair."

Gon had to laugh. He couldn't stop smiling. Killua's face might not have been a human's face, but the pouts and snotty faces he pulled definitely made him look childish.

"Why is it unfair? I've practiced more than you. I've made lures since I was a kid," Gon said, pulling out his own freshly carved lure to compare.

They really didn't look all that different, Gon had to admit. Killua learned incredibly fast. Even now, with both lures sitting next to each other, hard to tell apart except for someone with a trained eye, Killua's eyes darted back and forth between them. Gon wished he could actually see the calculations happening behind the deep, dark blue eyes.

"Yours is better, but only just barely," Killua finally admitted with his warbling, wavy voice. Gon gulped. He bloomed a little bit inside with pride. Killua's words had a way of dipping inside of him, and stirring things up like a stick in a shallow pond.

"Should we give them a try?"

Killua took his lure back.

"Give them a try? I am interested," Killua agreed. Gon nodded, and sat down next to Killua by the railing of the boat.

"Alright, so, remember some of those knots I already taught you?" Gon said. He grabbed his fishing line and pole, and quickly fastened the lure to the of the line.

"The lures are to catch fish, is that right?" Killua asked. Gon nodded. Killua's lips parted into a wide smirk.

"Use your lure, Gon. Try and catch a fish."

Killua rolled onto his belly, tail flipping up lazily behind him. Gon stood up. He tipped the rod back, and with a practiced flick, sent it flying into the water some distance from their both.

Gon slowly reeled the line in. Beside him, Killua tensed up into stillness. His predatory instincts seem to react naturally to the game of cat and mouse happening near his perch.

With a sudden jerk of the rod, Gon knew he'd done it.

"Oh!" Gon shouted. Killua curled his chest off the deck, tail trembling and mouth grinning.

It wasn't the biggest fish Gon had ever landed, but he was proud of it all the same. The creature flopped in his hands, still spirited and alive. He lifted it up to unfasten the hook from the lip.

"So, your lure lets you catch only one fish?" Killua asked. Gon nodded. Killua's eyes narrowed, and held Gon's gaze without blinking. Killua looked at that fish like it was the most fascinating object on Earth.

"Now it is my turn," Killua said, a lilting trail dangling off his words as his sibilant speech followed him as he turned to hang his head off the side of the boat.

"Wait, didn't you want to use your..." Gon started to ask as he began to untie his lure from the fishing line. He stopped short, though, when the space between himself and the siren suddenly grew insurmountable.

Killua slipped one hand into the water. The long, dangerous fingers disappeared under the surface, his wrist ending in a black and blue void. Gon dropped the rod, and forgot he'd left the fish he'd caught to flop on the deck.

Low, dark sounds dropped Gon's stomach straight down, through the deck and hull, and straight into the ocean. An unsettling melody surrounded him. He tried to focus on the hand Killua sank into the water, but he couldn't focus on that. He could only focus on the source of the sound.

Killua's face, lips parted, and sharp teeth carefully hidden. Not like his normal smile. It was a performance. His face looked smooth, almost as smooth as the music he produced.

It wasn't really singing. It was much closer to magic.

Gon realized he'd moved closer, and closer.

Killua's shoulders shifted. The husky, lilting, pleasurable sound quieted. It got specific. It had an end point.

Gon leaned closer, until he could smell the sharp, sea grass tang of Killua's shiny skin. Killua's face wrinkled, just so, near his eyes and the corner of his mouth. The illusion of unapproachable beauty fading into his much more endearing look.

"Aaaaah, and there we are," Killua finally said. He flexed his hand on the opposite side of head, razors flashing in the sunlight. He dropped it into the water beside the first. As easily as of he'd been pulling them out of a pot on a kitchen counter, Killua lifted two huge, wriggling fish up by their gills.

Whatever spell Killua cast with his voice snapped apart. Gon shook his head as the fish sprinkled salt water over their faces. Killua laughed, triumphantly, an even more attractive sound than the song he'd just sung.

"And that is just the two I could grab! So much for your silly, human lure. I knew there was something you could not do."

Sometimes, Killua made no sense, and this was an exemplary time.

"But, Killua, you just sang fish into your hand! That's amazing! It was beautiful!"

Gon smiled as wide as he could. The way he felt about Killua couldn't always translate into words, but this was one of the times he could manage.

Killua's eyes went wide, as wide as they could go, just like Gon's smile. His lips tightened, and he looked down at the fish. Without looking back up, he held them out to Gon.

"Here, for you. To eat."

Gon accepted Killua's gift, before a question occurred to him.

"But, what about you? Aren't you hungry? Do you want one?"

The pure disgust on Killua's face was almost startling.

"A fish? Absolutely not."

Taking the three fish, Gon carried them to his baskets. He'd need to return to shore soon, so they should keep until then.

"If you say so. What do you eat, then? Aren't you hungry?"

If the silence, suddenly icy, hadn't tipped Gon off to the nature of the subject he'd suddenly broached, the quick slap of fin against deck should have. He turned to see Killua's fin curled underneath, almost ready to dive into the water.

"Wait!"

"Gon, I do not eat fish. I eat..."

Just before Killua could launch himself over the low railing, Gon placed a warm hand on the cold, slippery shoulder.

"Please don't go! I'm sorry! I don't know what I did, but..."

"Gon, I eat humans. You. I eat you."

Gon did not let go, until Killua's head spun. His face looked drawn, almost pale. He grabbed the railing, and spun himself around.

Maybe Killua expected horror, or fear. Gon wasn't sure why he didn't feel either.

"Sorry, I...I guess I did know that. I'm sorry."

"You are sorry?" Killua asked, incredulous. "Why are you sorry? I do not understand."

The reason Gon could fight his fear, even though Killua was a monster, occurred to him. Even though Killua ate humans. Even though Killua could, in a heartbeat, eat him.

"Because you're my friend, Killua, and that was a rude question."

Killua laughed at that, and he seemed as surprised by the sound as anyone.

"You are weird even for humans, are you not, Gon?"

Gon shrugged. "I guess, maybe."

Standing over Killua felt awkward, again, so Gon sat down.

"But, now that I think of it, you must be starving. Because you've been spending all these days with me and I've never see you eat."

Killua sighed, impatiently, like he was explaining to a stupid child.

"I feast only at night, so I would never eat around you anyway. But, if you must know, I have not eaten in a long time. I do not need to eat anywhere near as often as walkers, but, yes, I am hungry."

The pieces fell together, somewhere in Gon's heart, not his head.

"You haven't eaten? For how long."

Killua's eyes blinked once, slowly, and met Gon's gaze unwavering after.

"Since I met you."

The guilt pressed against Gon's chest like two heavy hands.

"I'm sorry."

"It has been my choice."

"But, you have to...isn't there anything I can do. Or get you?"

Killua turned away.

"Nothing you can give I would ever ask."

Gon looked at Killua. At his friend.

"Try me."


	3. Sleep

Water poured into his mouth, and filled his nose. His lungs burned. He clawed and grasped in front of his face, trying to pull oxygen inside. He woke up, and it was all a dream. A dream that surrounded him like the ocean had that day. A dream that was a memory he lived again almost every night.

The ocean turned mirror silver in the moonlight the night Gon followed Killua into the water. Killua had never allowed Gon to follow him at night before. Gon might be a capable human swimmer, but Gon had watched Killua slip through the dark water like a current. When Killua wanted to leave Gon behind, he could and did.

That night, however, Killua had asked Gon to follow him. Gon eagerly agreed. His curiosity ate at him insatiably. He’d never met anyone, or anything, more fascinating than his friend Killua.

(Gon resisted the nagging part of his brain tried to pull him back. That better angel that his aunt told him he needed to ignore less, and trust more, screamed that this was not safe. His desire did not arise naturally from his own heart and mind. Someone outside tugged on him, like a dog on a leash. Gon shook head when those thoughts came to him.

Gon resisted the part of his brain that had stopped nagging, and started screaming at him, that night.

He didn’t dare indulge fully what skirted the edge of his mind.

“I want to be his.”)

Into that moonlight silver surface, streaked with black and white waves, Killua’s body formed a perfect arc. Gon jumped in after, cutting an efficient, but far less elegant, figure out of the night.

At first, Killua was just Killua, with skin shiny and blue and green, like the spectacular pottery of Gon’s home island. Killua’s eyes were almost black in the night sky, and sharp like razors. His smile was a perfect row of sharp, dagger teeth. He smiled, briefly. He reached one hand out. Gon took it. The strength, as always, was startling.

“Are you ready, Gon?” Killua asked. The smile slid away, and Killua’s face didn’t tell Gon anything anymore. Gon nodded. His brain and his heart did not agree. His body shivered, and it was not just from the cold.

“Come,” Killua instructed. He ducked below the churn. He gently tugged Gon’s hand down with him. Gon gulped in air just before his head plunged below.

Stinging blackness surrounded Gon. Killua’s hand tightened its grip, as the second hand searched Gon’s other hand. He held them both. Gon blinked, and something extraordinary came into view.  

Like the lanterns he would send floating into the sky, softly lit balloons lifted by small candles, Killua’s skin glowed. Constellations of golden, blue, green, and white light shimmered inside Killua’s skin. His scales became clearer to see, flashing like sharpened metal.

Gon’s head swam, and not simply from holding his breath. A lush, living thing began to bloom in his chest. It fed on the light Killua gave off. He turned toward it, the way a sunflower follows the sun. He gaped, like a fish, and he might very well begin to drown.

He didn’t care.

Killua, glowing and inhuman, leaned closer, and began to sing. Full-throated, mouth open wide, and serrated.

Gon drew closer. He could not resist. He desperately needed to be closer.

Unwinding his serpentine tail, Killua bent and curved his voice. He curled his tail around Gon’s legs, winding them together. At the same time, their fingers wound in and around each other. Gon’s hair and wet clothes fluttered, and his eyes glazed.

Their faces came as close as they could without touching. The soft gills on Killua’s neck wiggled as he sang. Gon’s eyes began to close.

Killua’s song stopped with a sharp gasp.

Gon’s eyes snapped open. The panic started. His hands pulled away from Killua’s as he reached for his throat and mouth. His eyes narrowed in pain.

The tail around Gon’s legs crawled up to his waist. It constricted tight. Killua curled his arms down and around Gon’s shoulder.

Pressed against Killua’s slick scales, Gon realized he was going to die.

In seconds that trudged like minutes, Gon’s head finally broke the surface of the water. Not carelessly, but not gently either, Killua tugged Gon’s body towards the boat. With strength Gon continued to incorrectly underestimate, Killua lifted Gon’s body onto the boat. Gon coughed up water, and managed to heave himself over the side of the boat before he vomited up the salty bile.

“That is what you needed to know, Gon.”

Killua left, then. Gon fell asleep not long after, convinced when he awoke that he’d heard sobbing on the wind.

He did not dream that night. After a long, hot day where he did not see Killua, and he needed to return to the shore for water, Gon had his first dream.

Perhaps it was all over. Gon realized he should have been relieved, but he was not.

When, not long after dawn, Killua reappeared on that second day, Gon dove into the water to hug him.

“I’m so sorry,” Gon cried. Killua snarled.

“For what? Following a siren into the ocean? Yes, you should be. You almost died.”

Gon shook his head.

“Of course I didn’t almost die. You were right there.”

Killua said nothing to this, but didn’t leave again, either. He swam near the boat, almost shy. Gon leaned his hand into the water, hoping to brush his fingertips over his friend’s scales. Eventually, Killua let him do just that.

Gon wanted to put it all behind him. However, his sleeping mind had other plans.


	4. Questions

He started by running his fingertips along the back of Killua's shoulders. He pretended, the first time, that he'd wanted to get his friend's attention. Killua had been leaning against the railing, watching something in the distance with eyes as sharp as his teeth and claws.

"What is it, Gon?" Killua would ask, barely turning his head. Gon blushed, and spoke sheepishly. 

"Oh, um, sorry! I forgot."

Killua flicked his long tongue out at Gon in amiable irritation. 

Soon, though, Gon asked Killua for permission to explore his alien features.

"Um, Killua?"

"Yes, Gon?" Killua asked, eyes wide while the flipper at the end of his tail lazily curled and uncurled. 

"Can I touch your fins?" 

The tail slapped against the deck, and Killua's back straightened like it was propped up with an iron rod. 

"My fins?!" Killua said, the sibilant lilt in his voice growing extra prominent. The green shimmer to his scales catching even more of the sunlight than normal as he leaned back from the railing, head tipped up to look at Gon in shock. 

"The ones...on your head?" Gon said, gesturing with an open palm around his own head in a sweeping circle. 

Killua raised his fingers to brush against his own fins, protectively. He uncurled his tail until it hung over the side, under the railing. Gon worried he'd just slip away in disgust or anger.

"I'm sorry, Killua, I shouldn't..."

"Be careful," Killua interrupted, lowered his hands. He entwined his own long fingers, holding them still, as he visibly curved his shoulders up towards his face. 

Eventually, Gon would sit next to his friend. With a tip of his head, or curve of his shoulders, Killua would invite Gon to run his hands along firm, smooth scales, or the sharp tips of the fins running along Killua's head, arms and back. 

Killua would hum with pleasure. Gon's head would go cloudy with a soft, puffy white fuzziness. 

It was nothing like the hot flush that bloomed on Gon's face when Killua reached over to stroke the skin of Gon's shoulder as Gon carefully explored Killua's arms. 

When the questions started, soon after, Gon's stomach churned like a water spout, and his words fell out in a scattered, inelegant jumbles. 

Gon had peppered Killua with endless questions since they'd first met. 

"How old are you?"

"Much, much older than you, Gon."

"Where do you live, normally?"

"Very deep."

"Where's your family?"

"As far away as I can manage to stay away from them."

After some time, Killua did not simply ask Gon to explain what he was doing, especially in order to learn how to do it, and try to do it better.

Soon, Killua asked about Gon, himself.

"Do you have a family?" Killua asked, as he lay on his belly, head facing away from Gon, as Gon ran his finger gently along Killua's dorsal fin. 

"I do. I have an aunt. And, I suppose, I had a mom."

Killua turned his head. The curiosity in Killua's eyes made Gon feel so many things that he had to pull his hand back, and focus on talking.

"I left my island to find my dad, actually," Gon admitted. Killua's mouth stayed in a stoic, even line. His eyes sparkled like two distant stars. Gon had never seen Killua look at him like this. 

"Did you find him?"

Gon gulped, and did not say, "I got sidetracked." He just shook his head. Killua closed his eyes, turned his head away again, and asked another question. Gon laid on his back, and crossed his arms behind his head as Killua spoke. 

"What is your island like?"

"Whale Island?" Gon asked, and then he gulped. He'd definitely talked Killua's ear...or fin... or whatever it was...off about the island before. About the fishermen and women he'd learned from. The countless excursions to the reef surrounding it to practice his boating. The bet, essentially, he'd made with his aunt to finally leave, requiring him harpoon a legendary Sword Master Kingfish on his own many years ago, when he was 14. 

Something about Killua's tone now, though, sounded so familiar that Gon could feel it on the tip of his mind, prodding against him like a pebble in his shoe. 

"It's beautiful," Gon started. Killua's tail curled up, and Gon watched the thin, strong membrane reflect and bend the sunlight like a prism as it stood up against the breeze. 

"Is it covered in green?" Killua asked. Gon nodded, and told him it was. 

"What kind of cave do you live in?" Killua asked. Gon explained that most humans didn't live in caves. He lived in a house, which was kind of like a ship with no sails, that didn't move. Killua snorted, but accepted that answer. 

"What do you eat?" Killua asked. "Do you only eat horrible, dead fish?" Gon shook his head, and explained how his favorite food was rice, and he missed it. He then explained what rice was, and how it grew out of giant, soaking fields that humans flooded. Killua's silence was awed during this explanation. 

"Are there other walkers, like those weird four legged ones I've seen tumbling off ships?" Killua asked, words jumping eagerly from his mouth. Gon laughed, though he realized that Killua must have been talking about, of all things, a shipwreck. 

"Yeah, all sorts. Dogs, cats, deer, horses, sheep, pigs, all kind of things."

Gon began to describe each creature in turn. Killua confirmed whether it'd been one he'd seen before, or not. The dogs and cats yes, deer no, horse, yes, but actually that was a cow, not a horse, and many sheep and pigs. 

"They all tasted disgusting, too," Killua explained. 

Gon turned on his side. He looked at Killua's back, and lifted his hand to trace the fin, again. Killua turned to look at him.

"I thought you could only eat humans," Gon asked. His voice lost its exuberance, and a familiar worry soured his tone. Killua kept resisting this conversation, but Gon kept addressing it.

"It is not something for you to worry about, Gon," Killua said. His tone had tried to end things, but Gon pressed his palm flat against Killua's side. He ran it slowly around, until he could feel what seemed to be thin, bony ribs.

"You've lost weight, Killua. I know you have," Gon said, bluntly. Killua snarled. 

"I did not ask you to submit judgment as to the robustness of my figure, Gon," Killua snapped. Gon lifted his hand away. He rolled onto his back again. He wished his eyes would stop stinging. Gon closed them, and rested his arm over them.

"Do you eat humans that you've killed?" Gon asked. Killua growled. Gon could sense him bend up, and look at him, though Gon couldn't look back. He could hear a low, distressed hum.

"I have not killed them all. When I was young, of course, I could not," Killua said. He stopped talking, but Gon could sense he was not done with his answer. Gon waited.

"I do not kill them all. In fact, it is best if I do not kill them at all."

Gon's mind began to race. "What do you mean?" he asked, pretending to be calm. 

Killua rolled away from Gon. Gon could hear how distant his voice grew. 

"When we feast, we do not eat flesh like you do. We eat desire."

Gon tossed his arm off of his eyes. He sat up. Killua lay on his side. He curled his fin against his chest, arms wrapped tightly around it, flipper covering Killua's face. 

"What do you mean?" Gon asked. 

"We feast on what humans gift us. Their bodies, their hearts," Killua said, with a quiet voice. His inhuman sounds, the guttural and plaintive sounds, fluttered between each syllable. 

Gon could not really catch his breath. It was as if he'd just ran for an hour. 

"We eat their flesh, or their bones. We rend their skin. We drink their blood."

Isn't that what Gon did? To every fish he caught? He looked at how Killua caught the sunlight. How he sparkled like crystal. How he moved like perfection. How he sounded and felt under his hands. An idea occurred to him. 

"You said they don't have to die? It's okay if they don't?"

Killua replied curtly. 

"Not they. You. Humans. You are a human, Gon, remember?"

"But you said they don't have to die?"

Killua uncurled. He sat up. He glared at Gon. Anger flared with every word he spoke.

"Gon, if you are suggesting what I think you are suggesting..."

Gon did not wait to spout out his idea. "What if I gave you some of my blood?" 

Killua heard the word blood, and Gon thought maybe Killua's fangs grew even longer. His fins stood straight out from his body. He held his fingers in curved, dangerous shapes. 

"Gon, you have no idea what you are really suggesting," Killua roared. His body sharpened all over, but Gon could see, even from just a few weeks ago, how it had shrunk. How there was less luster to his skin and eyes. 

"Killua, you're dying!" Gon shouted. It was the loudest he'd ever raised his voice. Killua bristled, all over, his fins wiggling in furious little motions. 

"And if you try whatever you are suggesting, you will die! I eat a person's desire!"

Gon nodded. He sat on his knees, and jammed his fists into his thighs.

"Exactly! Killua, I want you to live. I'd do anything..."

Killua crawled forward with that incredibly speed until his face was mere inches from Gon's spittle flying from his mouth as he shouted. 

"Anything?! I eat their desire to die, Gon! I eat their desire to give themselves to me entirely!" 

Some part, deep in Gon's mind and heart, resisted. But, as he looked at Killua's eyes, deep and blue and unlike anyone else's, he couldn't stop himself. He cupped Killua's cheeks with his hands. His eyes saw nothing but Killua's face. 

"I won't let you die."

Killua's hands grabbed Gon's forearm. His mouth and teeth were close enough to tear into Gon's face, and lips. Gon smelled that good, indescribable smell of the sea, and sun. He pressed closer.

He brushed his lips softly against Killua's. Killua gasped, quietly, and grasped for the side of Gon's face, fingers tangling in his hair. 

Lips brushed against Gon's cheek, and wet, warm breath made his ear tingle. "You cannot," Killua whispered. Gon released his hands, and leaned back, before he realized what he was doing. Killua's eyes looked like shattered glass as tears sparkled in them. Killua flung his body back, and then under the railing. There was a small splash. 

Gon sat dazed as Killua swam to the rear of the ship. Gon did not know if Killua was still there when he finally came to his senses, and stood up. 


	5. Meeting

Killua had not yet received that name. However, before he was called that, he still had lived a very long time. Not as long as his brothers, or his mother or father, and not nearly so long as grandpa, but Killua had lived a long time. He had seen many things.

He had never seen anything like this before.

Whenever possible, Killua left his home territory. He knew the only reward he'd get for that behavior would be endless tongue lashings from his older brother, but he could never resist. The darkness of their deep home grew boring. The world beyond, hinted at by the prey floating in on their ships and boats, large and small, was interesting.

Sunshine could be too bright to bear for eyes adapted to the deep sea, and hunting in the darkest parts of night. Today, the sun dazzled Killua's eyes, but the heat soaked through his fins and scales until his bones sizzled with pleasure.

Floating on his back, chest and belly warming in the sunlight, Killua considered going farther than he ever had before. After his many years of skimming the edges of the limits of his family's home, Killua's pulse pounded and throat clenched. The thought of circling back, sweeping his body backwards into the current that would rush him home, turned his stomach. He looked out beyond where he had ever traveled before, and didn't even need to think. His muscles, body, brain, and tail moved together.

He hungered for change.

He traveled a long time, and realized that not very much at all changed, even after going a very long way.

One slow day, gray and heavy before a storm, Killua looked out into the endless blues of sky and sea, sighed, and dipped his head down. Maybe he never would find anything exciting.

In the dark, it was still easy for Killua to see through the dark murk of ocean water. Swarming families of fish, silver slices of life reflecting what little light there was, approached, darted right, and then, suddenly, exploded into every direction.

A blast of current, the shrill, exuberant cry of a porpoise going full speed, and without any other warning, Killua was face to face, and nose to nose, with someone who would change his life forever. 

"Whoa!" bubbled out of the human's mouth. Humans couldn't actually speak underwater, but Killua understood. He was just as startled

The porpoise screeched out a song of farewell as it sailed away from the human who had been gripping its fin. The human raised its hand after the departing creature, like humans always did, but his eyes started to swallow Killua whole. 

"You're a..." the human tried to say, bubbling out more barely coherent words. The eyes that had widened in surprise now brightened with terror. It had been too long. Killua knew down to the count of human heartbeats how long this human had. 

The human gasped, and clung to Killua's back, carefully avoiding his dorsal fins, as Killua wound his arms around the human's chest. He surged towards the surface with his warm, gripping bundle. 

They surfaced with a small splash. Killua said nothing, and the human gasped, lungs hungrily sucking in air. 

"You saved me!" the human finally said. Killua said nothing. 

In the weak, cloud dappled light, the human’s eyes were the gold of sunset reflected off the water. The looked at Killua, really looked at him, and looked completely different than any other humans' eyes. 

"Are you really...?" the human said. A smile made his voice as sunny as his eyes. 

Killua considered why he was still here. What he had done. He continued to say nothing. He worried, briefly, what his voice would do to this human. The answers did not come to him. 

"Are you a siren?"

He did know the answer to this question. That was what humans called him, either in whispers as their ships navigated around the rocks of the hunting ground, the human’s ears packed with wax and cloth, or in the blissful, final gasps of their life. 

"Wow, well, whatever you are, you're the most exciting thing I've found in a long time!"

A sharp, stinging breeze forced the human's eyes closed, finally. It moved through the thick, brown hair on his head, and Killua wished for a moment to feel it between his fingers. Humans came in so many shapes and sizes, and this one was a particularly beautiful one. 

The human laughed, and rubbed his wet hands over his face. Killua's heart thumped against his chest. The human had said exciting, and Killua repeated the word to himself, quietly. The human's eyes shot open again, and he let out a gasp. 

"Oh! Can you really talk? Are you real?! I'm not just hallucinating, am I?"

"I can talk," Killua said. "And I can sing. I can do much more than that, too, but your ears cannot understand anyway."

Wavering liquid moved behind the human's eyes. A flicker of compulsion that Killua had feared he'd see. Killua clamped his mouth shut. 

The laughter faded, and the human's mouth stilled. 

Like a sunrise, then, beauty itself seemed to be defined by the shades and shadows of this human's smile. 

"My name is Gon," the human offered. He reached one hand out, fingers perpendicular to Killua's body. Killua looked at it. He held up his hand, in the same pose. 

"I'm Killua," Killua said. Except, of course, his name, his given name, was not Killua. It was longer, more beautiful, more musical, and, frankly, impossible for a human to say. 

"Killua?" the human Gon asked. He looked at their two hands next to each other. He laughed, again, and pressed their hands together. 

"I did not say Killua," Killua said. He watched their hands move together as Gon held his hand, and lift it up and down.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can use your real name. Is it okay if I just say Killua?" 

Killua looked up from the hand. Gon wasn't smiling, but his face looked just as soft, and tender. Just as dusty, dusky brown. Killua nodded. 

"It's really nice to meet you, Killua!"

The change was as sudden as the rushing fins of a porpoise. Of the distance between's life, and drowning. 

Killua's life changed. 

He ignored, then, the hunger. The older, deeper hunger. He'd ignored it to travel. 

He looked at Gon. He looked at a human. His prey.

He swallowed, and continued to ignore his hunger. 


	6. Taste

Gon didn't know what else to but chase him. The sea churned under the hull of his boat. Gon hoped he smelled the wrong shift in the sea breeze, and didn't really taste the musty, thick taste of a brewing storm.

He knew it was insanity to chase a siren with just a boat, and the wind in his sails. He knew it was insanity to chase Killua, especially. He'd never seen anyone swim as fast, or as gracefully.

If Killua really wanted to leave, Gon knew he would have to let him. Knowing that made the heavy, rounded weight in his belly no easier to carry, but he knew that he would have no choice.

But, before that, all Gon could picture was his friend's skin growing more pallid by the day. His chest and torso shrank away, thinner and thinner, until he looked threadbare like an old dishrag.

The wind may have brought Gon bad news, but it also brought him swift sailing. It didn't take long for his small, sturdy craft to move quickly towards the last spot on the horizon Gon could remember seeing that small shape dart away. 

It did occur to him, as the day continued, that that glimpse, as well as the other curious glimpses of a distant shine, was Killua giving Gon permission to chase him.

After all, couldn't Killua just dive deep into the dark ocean if he wanted Gon to leave him be?

When the storm surrounded Gon's craft, Gon considered turning around. It was absolute suicide to point his bow into the leaping waves. 

That's when Gon saw the bending arc of a blue and silver body leap between the waves. Sickly green sunlight filtering through the storm clouds made monstrous and inhuman features that much more striking to the eye. 

"Killua!" Gon shouted, as loud as he could. His voice was hoarse from all of the hundreds and hundreds of other times he'd shouted the name.  He listened as closely as he had all those other times, too, and didn't really expect anything more than the sloshing, endless drone of the waves and the wind. 

And then the song started. 

A low noise, deeper than the sea, followed by a high trill, like something a bird nestled high in the tree tops would sing. 

Gon froze. His boots slipped on the wet wood, as he gripped the rigging to stop his body from retreating. Everything in him begged him to fling his body back, steer the boat away, leave this place immediately. 

His mouth tasted rainwater and iron as he stubbornly grit his teeth The spicy scent of his grandmother's cooking, and the sun-warm smell of drying laundry lured his mind homeward. 

Killua was luring Gon as far from him as he could. 

Tears trickled down his cheeks. Gon tasted seawater. 

"Do you really want me to go away?!" Gon shouted into the bluster. The empty sound of ocean waves and a rocking hull was the only answer. Eventually, Gon could stand under his own power. He released his grip. 

Silent, lethal lightning exploded across the horizon. The sky took a long, deep breath, and then a long, low, violent crack of thunder shook everything. As if this had unfastened the gate holding everything back, the wind and rain raced across the deck and through the rigging and sails like stallions from a starting line. Gon toppled to the deck. The boat tipped, and he slid at a sickening angle, crashing against the side. 

It was too slippery, and the waves lifted the boat too high. With a cry of surprise cut short as the wind was knocked out of him, Gon flew off the deck of his boat and into the water. 

Everything was everywhere. Gon couldn't find his arms or legs, and he was lost amidst chaos. The suffocating sound of his own cries went quiet when his head bobbed below the water. 

Softly, blurring at the edge of his vision, Gon saw darting green and silver. His eyes tried to stay open, but exhaustion and the sting of the sea closed them. He stopped scrambling, and started drifting, and then he started sinking.

A deafening roar, and then silence.

Cold, so much cold, and then the creep of warmth up each leg. 

He was so tired. Sleep was the most delicious idea he'd ever had. 

Clean, precise notes. Individually plucked strings. 

"Gon?"

Gon wasn't sure what his name was, anymore, but still, he thought it would be rude to keep his eyes closed. 

The notes moved together, quicker and quicker, until they spun and waltzed around him.

"Gon, you must open your eyes. You must take my hands."

Gon reached out, and felt two vices grip his fingers. It hurt, but the pain was stepping into a brisk creek on a hot day. He shook his head. His eyes opened. 

Fangs and narrow eyes that glowed like fireflies shone. Killua's head fins bristled like a cat's ears, flicking back and forth quickly, as if they were listening to something. Gon was pulled into impossibly strong arms. The slick, smooth scales abraded his cheeks softly, like when he tripped and fell in the grass. 

He heard a lullaby. It lifted memories up and out of him, leaving his gut and heart twisting and turning. He barely noticed the shock of surfacing above water, or the painful fumble as his body was hoisted back on deck. 

The song continued. He could finally open his eyes. 

Killua lay beside him on the deck, eyelids closed, mouth open. The sound of comfort and being together flowed out from between Killua's thinly parted lips. The ragged breath between each note was impossible to ignore.

Gon's hand shook as he reached to touch Killua's cheek. 

Killua's lips closed. The blood smeared red brush strokes on Killua's scales. Killua's eyes widened. 

"You are hurt," Killua said, without opening his mouth. Gon shook his head.

"You're dying," Gon said out loud. His second hand cupped the other cheek of Killua's face. Killua's hands covered Gon's. He said nothing. His mouth opened, like a gate on a rusty hinge. 

"You are bleeding," Killua said, forming the words with whimpering, discordant notes. 

Gon counted each blink. He noted his breathing. In and out. He was fine. He would be fine. 

Gulping, and trying to force closed his mouth, it was impossible to ignore the hunger in Killua's eyes while he tried, and failed, not to pant. A ragged, haunting call slipped from Killua's lips, even as Gon watched him try to force it back inside. 

Gon's uninjured thumb traced the sharply edged cheek. The ethereal, fragile features drew Gon closer, and closer, until their forehead touched.

"I want you to," Gon finally said. 

Killua's eyes closed as Gon slipped his bleeding thumb between starving lips and razors.

A long tongue encircled Gon's thumb. 

Gon moaned as Killua hummed. His tail curled up and around Gon's back. Gon collapsed, and buried his face into the crook of Killua's neck. 

Killua's hands buried themselves in Gon's hair. He feasted on blood, and the coarse texture of Gon's hair. 

Killua drank Gon's shudders until he nearly choked. 

When he was done, he released Gon like a creature set free from a snare. Gon rolled to his side, panting as if he'd just swam as far as he could see. Gon's hand fell away. Killua wrapped his arms around Gon's chest. He leaned into the nape of Gon's neck. 

Only the space of one breath stopped his teeth from scraping jagged red lines into brown skin. 


	7. Quench

The sun refused to show.

It would rain most of the day, and when it wasn’t raining, the winds tossed every wave in existence directly onto their deck.

Huddled under the outcropping of his aft deck, Gon shivered, but it was not against the cold.

Sweat clung to his brow. Labored breath crawled gasping from his throat.

He tried not to fall asleep, but his eyes grew so heavy.

“Gon, you cannot sleep yet. You must drink.”

The only thing that could force his eyes open, so he could swim through the white currents of his exhaustion, was the sound of that voice.

“Killua?” Gon asked, his voice dry and helpless. Gon tried to sit up, but his arms shook with weakness. He toppled back to the deck with a painful slap.

A slippery sound, and Killua was at his side. Two strong hands carefully propped him upright.

Sheets of blue gray rain splattered the deck. It was a blessing, really, because it meant a near limitless supply of fresh water. Killua had put out every container he could get his hands on to catch all that he could.

“Sit here, and wait for me,” Killua commanded. It was a gentle tone, but no less impossible to disobey. Gon nodded.

With ginger motions, Killua let go of Gon. Gon stayed upright, only swaying a little. Killua quickly slid over the slippery deck, rain pelting his fins and back. He grabbed a large bucket, and tried not to spill any as he pulled it back with him.

Gon’s eyelids drooped, and fluttered. Killua touched his forehead to Gon’s. He whispered words that Gon could not understand, pleading and soft. Gon opened his eyes.

“Oh, Killua, mornin’,” Gon said with a soft smile. Time of day held no meaning while the sky was stained with a perpetual storm. Killua smiled back, trying to hide his fangs.

“Good morning, Gon. Will you drink water, now. For me?” Killua asked, lifting the bucket into his lap, curling the tail around the bucket, and Gon’s waist.

“Drink?” Gon asked, tone lazy with fatigue. The smile held in place even as Gon unleashed a loud yawn, and tipped his head back. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Killua chewed on his own lip, and he did not do so gently. He dipped his hands into the bucket. The water was a shadow in his hands. Gon flinched, visibly, as Killua touched his finger tips to Gon’s lips. Gon opened his mouth into a thin sliver, but it was enough for water to drip in.

The petulant hesitation passed. Gon moaned. His hands floated up to Killua’s shoulders, pulling them closer.

Water spilled over them both as the bucket tipped over. Gon slid his hands down Killua’s arms as Killua guided the water into Gon’s mouth.

When Killua pulled his empty hands away, Gon gripped Killua’s wrist.

“Gon,” Killua whispered.

Gon drew Killua’s hands closer and closer to his lips. He narrowed his eyes as he slowly twisted Killua’s wrist between his finger, until the palm sat parallel with his face.

A pink tongue darted out of Gon’s mouth.

Gently, Gon swirled the hot tip of his tongue along the grooves and ridges of Killua’s palm, lapping up every drop of water.

The tongue swirled lazily, before slipping over the thin, sensitive webbing of Killua’s hands. Killua shuddered, but bit his lip to stop the groan. It was as much torture as pleasure, at this point.

Gon’s half-lidded eyes trailed invisible strands along Killua’s shoulder, over his neck, and across his lips and nose. Their eyes met, the invisible connection now sturdy and unshakable.

“Aren’t you thirsty?” Gon asked with a voice that was little more than hot breath over wet skin. Killua gulped, and Gon’s eyes darted to watch his throat bob greedily.

Of course he was.

Gon moved Killua’s wrist aside. He slipped his hands around Killua’s waist, sliding down until he could lift the siren into his lap.

Killua’s hands dropped to his sides.

“I know you’re hungry,” Gon said. Of course he knew. He’d feel it pound against his skin now like the vibrations of a song, fluttering through the waves of his blood. Killua gulped again. He placed wet hands gently around the sides of Gon’s ribs.

“Your neck,” Killua whispered, turning his mouth towards the hot, vulnerable skin.

“Yes, there,” Gon agreed.

Every place felt different to him.

Killua brushed his nose against the skin, and it smelled delicious.

The neck would always feel the best, though.

Gon shamelessly moaned. He tipped his head back.

Killua started humming, deep in his throat.

The fangs sank deep into bruised skin, next to pinpricks of red that were already there.

They fell together against the wood of the deck. Killua’s tail wrapped Gon’s legs together, holding him carefully still. Gon moved, but only to force himself closer.

Trying to make Killua drink more.

Killua had to hold him down, two strong hands wrapped tightly around Gon’s wrists, while he slowly fed.

Gon kept his eyes open. He smiled.

His skin turned grey blue, and Killua did manage to stop himself in time. Gon’s feather light breath danced against Killua’s skin. Killua squeezed Gon’s wrists as the bruise grew wider and wider.


	8. Retreat

The world lurched under him. Even with sea legs as strong and sturdy as Gon’s, it made his stomach flip with unease. He sat up slowly, bracing himself with shaking arms.

Endless rays of sunlight baked the wood of the vessel until it was painful to touch beyond the shrinking safety of his canopied shelter. The reserved rainwater had all been drunk, and the straggling drops disappeared in the heat.

Gon’s throat croaked and cracked. He could barely move his jaw without pain. He had been traveling by boat since before he could walk, but now it took all he had just to hold the spare contents of his stomach in place before he could shuffle to the edge to be sick.

Salty ocean sprayed in his mouth. He wiped away the dribbles of sickness and sodium. He blinked at the blinding glare, until he could see the churn of wake behind the boat. He gripped the rails so he wouldn’t fall. He clambered towards the stern. The deck lurched under his feet again as glinting metallic blue caught his eye.

“Killua?” Gon rasped.

The clicking and throaty trill of Killua’s native language slid through Gon’s ears. He frowned. Killua looked up at Gon with narrow eyes and a more inscrutable expression than normal. Killua made a clicking sound, and repeated himself, but in a language Gon understood.

“That is not my name.”

“Killua,” Gon slurred, hanging his head and arms over the side as the effort to stay standing became too great. “Killua, what’re you doing?”

Killua clicked again.

“What does it look to you like I am doing?”

Killua’s long tail was a washed smear of moving color under the water. He’d dug his claws into the wet wood of the boat. Like a small motor, Killua was propelling Gon’s craft through the waves.

“Where are we going?”

Killua shook his head.

“I do not know yet. Somewhere.”

The intensity on Killua’s face wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but it still startled Gon. Even though his head still spun and his stomach threatened to vomit up what little was left of it, Gon stood up.

“I’ll help, then.”

With limbs as heavy as wet clay, and twice as sluggish, Gon lifted one leg over the railing. The boat jolted as Killua jerked himself perpendicular to the water, both eyes wide and furious.

“What are you doing!? Stop that, right now, Gon!”

Gon shook his head stubbornly. Killua’s face had scared him. His tone scared him more. Something was terribly wrong, but Killua wouldn’t tell him what, and Gon couldn’t just sit back to wait for the truth to be unveiled. He was about to hoist himself over when an ear splitting shriek forced his hands to his ears, making him topple back to the deck. Angry, and embarrassed, Gon shouted back.

“Why’re you doing this Killua? What’s wrong?”

As Gon finished speaking, he suddenly became winded to the point where he almost couldn’t breath. He started coughing, which force more bile up his throat and into his mouth

He’d never felt this weak, or this helpless.

The shriek ended, and Gon’s coughing grew louder and louder.

With a thump, Killua climbed over the railing. Gon’s coughing began to slow as Killua started to trill. Killua’s wet, webbed fingers traced Gon’s thinning cheekbones.

“Killua,” Gon said, between violent hacking. “What’re you doing?”

Killua shook his head. He trilled louder, and then opened his mouth.

A full-fledged melody flowed out. Soft like a lullaby, but discordant. It was painful and irresistible. Gon couldn’t keep his eyes closed. He collapsed to the deck, wishing desperately he could just be back on Whale Island, with his beloved Aunt, in his own bed.

He barely noticed as Killua gracelessly tugged him back to the shaded overhang. He woke up later to drying blood on his lips. He would see the stars swirl above him as the boat moved ahead of Killua’s endless motion.


	9. Blood

A sharp and metallic smell that rises over the thick and slimy brine of the ocean. Creatures live and die all around him, but he would know that scent from dozens of fathoms away.

The wind whipped spray into his eyes. Killua blinked his second set of eyelids. He needed to stay awake. He needed to keep going.

It wasn't really blood which poked a hole inside of him. He was draining out, and it left him empty, and so, so hungry.

"Killu....a..."

His long, pointed tongue slithered out. He wet his lips, which were as cracked and bone dry as the wooden mast of the boat, sails hanging limp in the dead wind.

The dreams had started at night, curled up around Gon's body. Gon had started to shiver at night, in the cold. Killua would curl his tail around Gon's legs, and pull him into his arms, but it wasn't enough to stop them.

Gon was still so warm, though. The warm-blood of a living walker flowed through him.

Killua licked his lips again at the memory. He tipped his head down until his forehead pressed against his upper arm.

His gills fluttered, and his nostrils flared.

Gon's blood.

It smelled so, so good.

A rough, scratchy touch startled Killua into attention.

"Gon!"

"Killua?"

Killua looked up into a painfully bright sun.

"Are we there, yet?"

"What?"

Gon was just a silhouette against the sky. Why was Killua still so certain, then, that Gon was smiling down at him, gently and with concern.

"Wherever you're taking us. Are we getting close?"

Gon's voice was sloppy. He dripped heavy words from his mouth.

The fins on Killua's head tipped back. He frowned. He pushed against the stern of the boat again, and started to swim again.

"I am not sure. I hope we are close."

A noisy clunk meant Gon had flopped back down onto the boat's deck. Panic seized Killua. He ducked below the water, and with two powerful flaps of his tail, launched into the air. He grabbed the boat's railing, and hauled himself up.

"Gon, are you unhurt?"

"Killua!"

Gon smiled up at him from the deck. He tipped his head to the side.

"Were you worried about me?"

Gon reached for Killua's face. Killua waited for the same rough, scratchy touch of Gon's dry, hot skin before he let himself inhale.

"You are just clumsy, like all walkers," Killua said. He could barely hear his own voice. More alarmingly, he could barely hear Gon's voice in reply.

"You're good at a lot of things, but you're not good at lying."

"Gon," Killua started to say. 

Gon pushed himself upright, even though his wrists and elbows staggered under his weight. 

"Be quiet, and go lay down," Killua wanted to say. 

Gon's nose didn't touch Killua's nose, suddenly, but only just. 

"What are you doing?" was all Killua could manage.

Gon just smiled, before kissing him. 

 

 

Blood.

Their lips smashed together. It hurt. Killua's teeth were razors. 

Gon grabbed Killua's face. He pushed their faces apart. He was clearly giddy, and clearly exhausted. 

Killua tried not just to see blood, smell blood, let the thought of drinking Gon dry, every last drop, every streaming, trickling spurt of the thick, red stuff pouring down his throat in a gulp after thirsty, gagging gulp. 

Gon's thumb caressed Killua's cheek. 

He kissed Killua again. 

 

So gentle.

Just a slow moving current. Floating on your back while the sun hides behind a cloud. 

The blood smeared on their lips. Killua licked it off, as he kissed Gon back, and Gon whimpered into his mouth.

 

The scent of the blood faded like foam on the tides. 

It tasted like chains and anchors, and Killua hated it.

Killua hauled the rest of his body, soaking wet, over the side of the boat. Gon groaned and laughed when Killua fell on him. 

"Stop laughing," Killua growled, before kissing Gon again. 

Gon's arms tightened around Killua's back. He laughed. 

"I'm not!"

Killua forgot hunger. 

Gon's lips were just as clumsy as he was, but then they found the bobbing node of his throat. The sensitive folds of his gills. 

 

The boat drifted on nearly stagnant waves. It went nowhere. They stayed wrapped together until neither of them could fight off sleep. 

They both dreamt of light filtered through grey clouds and seas.


	10. Whale Island

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter that I've only published to AO3. That'll be the only place I publish from here on out, because the chapters are getting too long. Thanks folks!

Despite his entire life spent at sea, Morel Mackernassey had no use for fish tales. Too practical, and firmly of the opinion that fact was always much, much stranger than fiction.

"Morel Mackernassey, you know I do not like to use this language," slurred his drinking companion amiably, but with that sour twinge that came from fear of being made to look a fool. "But, Captain, that story is a load of bullshit."

Morel just laughed. It absolutely was not, but how else could anyone explain what he'd just lived through to tell the tale of?

"The last thing I need to do is lie to impress you, Knov."

Knov seemed to struggle against the chuckle for just a moment before his lips quirked, and a grunt slipped out.

"So, if everything Palm told me was correct, you found the boy half crazed and starving in some primitive skiff, and the siren was wrapped around him like a python with a fawn."

Morel shook his head as he twirled pasta around his fork, not noticing or caring about the drops that flew off with each gesture as he lifted it to his mouth.

"Not primitive. That boat should have been driftwood after all it'd been through, honestly. These Whale Islanders know how to build a craft," Morel said, slurping up noodles stained black with squid ink, making Knov involuntarily shudder.

"Fine, fine, my poor knowledge of local ship craft aside, is that true? And the boy was still alive?"

Morel shook his head, mouth working over his forkful.

"Damnedest thing I've ever seen. Kid should have died weeks ago in that sun, but there he was, holding onto that fish tailed monster for dear life."

Knov just raised his eyebrows as he took another giant pull of beer. He tipped the mug back as far as it could go, sighing with disappointment when he emptied it of the last drop. He gestured at Morel to pause as he lifted his cup in the air.

The good-looking redhead waitress made eye contact with him, and offered a wan smile of acknowledgement. Knov smoldered at her reflexively. Morel tried not to roll his eyes.

Knov looked back at Morel as he set down the mug.

"He was holding onto it?"

Morel nodded.

"One of the scariest, most impressive looking specimens I've ever seen, too. Well fed. You don't find those bastards alive very often," Morel continued. "Well, not to live to tell about it."

Knov only traveled the seas as a passenger, not as crew, but even he knew all about the threat of the most storied of all sea monsters.

"But the boy was still alive?"

Morel dropped his fork to the empty plate with a loud clatter.

"Wasn't just alive. It looked like the siren was protecting him. Trying to keep him safe."

Knov peeked over his glasses, skepticism knitting his brow.

"But Palm told me the boy was covered in bite marks. Dripping with his own blood."

Even Palm, the voyage's pallid and morbid navigator, had visibly curdled looking at the scene.

"It was grisly, but that wasn't the most upsetting part."

As much gusto as Morel had been telling the story up to this point flowed away like a tipped over bucket. The awkward silence was finally punctuated by splashes into their empty mugs.

"You two doing okay?" the serving woman asked with a sweet tone, and a too-sharp smile.

"Yes ma'am," Knov offered, while Morel waved his hand. She finished refilling his mug, and stepped away.

When she seemed to be out of hearing range again, Morel propped his elbows on the table to lean his forehead against his fists.

"The most upsetting part?" Knov suggested, as they sat in further silence.

"The boy didn't want to go. He screamed. He fought, and cried. Did this to me."

Morel hooked a finger into the collar of his shirt. He pulled down to reveal a set of deep red gashes on one of his shoulders, with an asymmetric, purple-gray bruise painting the skin behind.

Knov gawked with wide eyes. Morel shook his head.

"I'm just lucky he was all skin and bones at this point."

"Because you wanted to get him away from the siren?" Knov asked. The wounds were superficial, but disturbingly feral in origin. Even Knov blanched.

Morel pulled his collar back up. He shook his head.

"He wasn't trying to fight me off."

Neither of the men noticed that the bar had started to empty. Only a few stragglers clung to their stools, leaving the other tables empty. The serving woman cleared away the tables near them. She lingered just a second or two longer than she needed to at each of them.

"He was shouting about how we shouldn't hurt him. Hurt the siren."

Knov repeated back the words he'd just heard, disbelief coating every syllable.

"The siren?"

Morel nodded back. "We pulled him aboard. Boy wasn't even conscious. It wasn't until we started off in the other direction that he woke up."

Palm had been the first crew member to hear the song. Her first duty on the voyage was reading the stars and divining the correct course with her seeing glass. A serious pathfinder, with some woo-woo thrown in for effect. She'd always claimed was due to some siren great-great-great-great-grandmama. It hadn't been the first time Palm heard, or sensed, or made a correct guess, that they'd run across a siren, putting their whole crew in danger.

This time, however, Palm stood at the bow, hair falling across her shoulders like a knot of sea grass caught in a low tide. She pointed straight ahead with one long, quivering finger and violently sharp nail.

"This way," Palm said to Morel. Morel looked port and starboard.

"Is there danger the other directions?" Morel asked. Palm shook her head.

"The danger is straight ahead."

"So, why?"

Palm just shook her head.

"He needs help." Her voice, normally high pitched and wavering, rang clear as a bell.

Maybe there was a touch of the siren in her, after all, because Morel couldn't resist her words. He called for full sail ahead.

"So, did you hear the siren, too?" Knov asked.

Morel sucked in a very long breath, and let it out even more slowly.

"He did need help."

The skepticism in Knov's raised eyebrows were more than enough to make his point very clearly.

"So, then, you definitely heard the siren?"

"I know what you're suggesting, Knov," Morel said, pointing with one big, thick finger. Knov pointed back.

"I'm not suggesting anything, the point is clear as day."

Morel yanked his hand back, and shrugged.

"Alright, there's no denying it. We were drawn in. But, Palm had never led us astray before, so I figured I owed her one."

Whatever it was that Palm could hear wasn't heard by any of the rest of the crew until many long moments later.

He heard the grate of a wrought iron fence unlatched at the entrance to a cemetery. A long, rusty chain wailing as it risked breaking into hundreds of pieces. Rumbling over his rib cage and sternum like thunder, and tickling the tips of his ears like a whistling wind.

"You know how sirens feed, right?" Morel asked. There was a long pause, and then Knov shook his head.

"They drink blood, and eat flesh, and chew on bones, all that. But that's not really their food," Morel explained. "What they actually need to survive is human desire."

"Desire?"

Morel nodded. "They don't want to catch a human unawares, or fight them. They want the human to acquiesce. To cut their own veins as an offering of love and adoration."

"Makes sense, what with the seductive singing, and all. Is that common sailor lore?"

Morel slid the sleeve of his left arm up to his elbow. The small, raised scars were clearly self-inflicted.

"No."

Knov's smug grin fell away with a small snort.

"But you headed in full speed ahead?"

Morel smiled with just one corner of his broad, amiable mouth. It must have felt as uncomfortable to do as it was to look at.  
"You don't just shake what their voice can do to you.

Knov tilted his head.

"That explains why the boy didn't want you to take him. He was enthralled."

Morel looked at his mug. His grin only grew, but it still didn't reach his eyes.

"It might do, but it doesn't explain what happened when the boy ripped himself out of my arms and tried to jump back into his boat."

The song, which had stopped when the vessels neared each other, started again. Morel's eyes were torn away from the bleeding, desperate young man he was trying to rescue, and to the shimmering, all too real return of the monster from Morel's youth, and his nightmares.

"Gon," the creature had said, between the humming, trilling, soothing and addictive sounds.  
Clawed hands reached between the gap, gently. They touched the boy's face. The boy's anger and intensity dropped out of him like an overturned bucket.

"Killua," the boy, Gon, said.

"You must go, you must."

The siren said that. He lifted a hand away to point at Morel.

"That man is a good, strong man, I can smell it. Please, do this for me."

Gon shook his head, but it was halfhearted at best after the violent display earlier.

"I don't want to. Don't make me," Gon pleaded. Killua's eyes flashed as quick and deadly as lightning. He pulled his hands back. He slithered to the other end of the boat, far from Gon's reach.

"You must."

The singing grew louder. It must have hurt the siren to sing it, but not more than it hurt Gon to hear it. He sobbed, loud and terrible, before falling to the deck in a slump.

"The only thing he was able to tell us after we finally got farther away was a location. Here."

Whale Island was a common stopover for sailors worldwide, not to mention adventurers like his old compatriot Knov, so it was luckily right in line with Morel's destination.

"It feels like fate that you were the one to encounter them, Morel," Knov finally said, after his long, silent contemplation at the conclusion of Morel's tale. "I don't think many other sailors would be ballsy enough, or compassionate enough, to help."

Morel laughed unpleasantly.

"Stupid. I was stupid then, and even stupider now. And, now the boy is home."

Knov nodded. He wiped his face delicately with the cloth napkin, and raised his hand to get the server's attention. Morel knew it was time to go, the conversation wearing thin its welcome, but he couldn't help his final thought from escaping.

"Something must be seriously wrong at home for that boy to prefer to throw his life away as food for some sea monster."

The heavy ceramic pitcher made a spine-jolting crash as it was slammed to the table's surface between the two men.

"Are you two finished?"

The red headed woman who’d served them, of no remarkable weight or height, towered over both men like an impassable fortress's wall. Knov stared at Morel, who blinked, and then grew eyes two sizes too big as he shook his head. She straightened, tapping her toe and searching both of them for something to scowl at beside their sudden, silent idiocy.

Knov remembered that he'd indeed called over the waitress, and only stumbled slightly over his words.

"Ah, yes, we'll be going, ma'am. I'll cover the bill."

With a knowing nod, Morel stood from the table, and walked out without another word.

Knov reappeared a moment later.

"She must have looked familiar then."

"Same big brown eyes, and stubbornly set jaw."

Mito Freecss, Gon's aunt, and more accurately, Gon's adopted mother, counted the man's bills two or three times over, while she considered whether to toss the enormous, unreasonable tip in the fire.

\----

When the other ladies at the bar heard she'd be coming to work that night, they exchanged looks they fooled themselves into thinking were short or innocuous, but Mito saw them, and they made her grind her teeth in frustration.

"Gon is just fine, and he's resting at home with my grandmother looking after him," Mito offered, even though no one had yet asked.

When the two men walked in, at first, Mito thought nothing of them. The sharply dressed foreigner, and a man with the obvious bearing and confidence of a prosperous sea captain were a pair she might have seen on any busy evening at the dockside Whale Island tavern where she worked.

"Tell me about that boy you fished out of the sea, then," said the foreigner, voice smoothly speaking the common language of the sea, with hardly an accent. Mito's eyes grew wide. She nearly tripped over her own feet as she turned to grab the heavy, sweating pitcher of water. Swinging back around, she could feel the handle threaten to slip right out of her grasp. 

Both of them accepted her offer of water with a polite smile and nod. She actually bit her tongue so she could stop herself from opening her mouth to ask more. 

Of course they meant Gon. Her Gon. He was the talk of the town. The entire port. Probably a number of other port cities at this point, too. 

She had hoped this man was just another big talker. He wouldn't have been the first to claim to have been the sailor to drag the half-dead, starved and addled boy to the doctor's doorstep early in the morning like a giant foundling. 

Listening to him, though, and she knew this story was the real one.

"I was safe, Aunt Mito. Really. He never would have hurt me."

It was Gon's voice, slippery and caustic, like rotgut wine. Intoxicating. It made her sick. 

To hear this man, she knew he had been as disturbed by what he saw as the story Mito had heard. 

"Something must be seriously wrong at home for that boy to prefer to throw his life away as food for some sea monster."

But that.

She closed the bar, the last to leave. She wrapped herself in an extra cloak, even though the night was not cold. A path she could have taken home probably blindfolded tripped her up, rocks and roots seeming to move themselves into her way, her attention lost inside of the trails of her mind. 

That sentence could have come from that deepest voice inside her, the one she first heard when he finally told her he was leaving to find his father. 

_"There must be something seriously wrong with you if he's leaving to find that man after all these years."_

Their warm, comfortable home shrank and chilled when Gon left. Now that he'd returned, it was stifling, and not just because they now stoked a heavy fire at all times to stave off Gon's teeth chattering. 

Stepping up to the door, the lights had all been turned low, only the candles and fire in the living room, where Gon's bed had been moved, shone through the windows. Mito had to remember to grab her key to unlock the door, as locking the door became a habit she'd only developed since Gon's return. 

"I'm home," Mito stage whispered into the warm kitchen as she stepped inside. Granny had long since gone to bed, a mug with a tea bag and kettle ready for warming sitting on the stove for Mito. Inside the room beyond, the fire crackled and threw long shadows over the walls. Mito listened carefully for the long, slow snores, but they never came.

"Gon?!" Mito said, voice raising, as she dropped her coats and forgot to slip over her boots before stomping into the living room. 

"Aunt Mito," Gon said, and she heard his faint smile. Stepping into the fire light, Mito could see Gon sitting up, pulling the blanket he'd had wrapped up around his head down. 

"Oh, Gon," Mito said, sitting at the foot of Gon's bed. "Did you rest?"

"Yeah, and ate. Granny made stew." 

Mito smiled back at Gon's sleepy smile. 

"I'm so glad, Gon."

His leg bounced under the blanket, just like when he was a child. Mito placed a hand on it. 

"I'm so glad you're back home, Gon."

Gon didn't stop smiling, and his leg didn't stop bouncing. 

"I missed you, Aunt Mito."

"Oh, Gon," Mito said. Her lip quivered. She leaned forward, and gathered Gon in her arms. 

Gon untangled his arms, and wrapped them around Mito's shoulders. He was so warm. 

"Now you can stay here, and finally join a fishing crew like we'd always planned."

"Mito," Gon whispered. "That was your plan."

Mito leaned back, and so did Gon. 

"Gon?"

She watched him stand up out of his bed with more vitality than he'd shown since he'd returned home. 

"I'm going to go for a walk, okay?"

"Gon!" Mito yelled, everything she'd tried holding close slipping out of her fingers. "You stop that right now. You almost died, Gon! Don't you understand?"

Gon stood silhouetted against the window. 

"But I survived."

"Barely! Gon, you were only hours from death! Don't you understand?!"

Gon looked down, a cloud passing in front of the moon obscuring his expression. 

"I can't stay here."

With that, Mito called his name, screamed it, but Gon just walked out the front door, pausing for only a moment to slip shoes on his feet. 

Anger and fear had left her exhausted, but that stubborn streak that her entire family was known for overcame even that. She stormed out after her nephew, and it did not take long to find him by following path from their cliff side home to the nearest shore, worn down from decades of feet. 

She wanted to yell, to grab his arm, and drag him, bodily, back home. 

When she found him, he looked small again, small enough to need her to wipe his nose and tie his shoes. She heard him cry, too, which she hadn't heard him do since he was that small. It stopped her footsteps. She could only stand, helpless, while Gon looked out into the vast, dark sea, frozen in place, waves lapping around his ankles. His shoulders hunched and heaved with each loud sob. 

They stood together until he collapsed into the surf. Mito came and collected her nephew then, too small to walk himself back home, and too big for her to carry. She offered her shoulder, and he walked beside her, each breath labored and painful for her to hear.


	11. Waiting

She hoarded her patience. She fought every day to keep it from splashing out of her hands to dry on the floor.

She asked Gon to clean up after himself, prepare dinner, keep the house tidy, go for walks to the market. He did all of it without hesitation, and that was what would leave her at a loss, scrambling to scoop the compassion back inside of herself. She didn’t want to reach out for both of his wide shoulders, and shake her fully grown nephew until his teeth chattered.

She wanted to scream at him.

“You used to fight me on this every day. You used to tell me you had adventures to go on. Places to visit. Things to do. You would smile, and try to sneak out. You would groan, like it was painful to clean up after yourself. Sometimes you were serious, sometimes you were just joking, but you were always smiling! Gon, you haven’t smiled in weeks, and I’m terrified you’ll never smile again!”

Even on days when she had to sleep in after a late night at the tavern, she would wake before her nephew. Today, though, she was able to enjoy waking before dawn. It was her favorite time, as she watched gold flow up and over the horizon, bringing color back to the sea as sunlight pushed back the darkness.

“Aunt Mito?”

Gon whispered at her as she lost herself staring out at sea. She nearly tipped her cup of coffee over as she turned towards him.

“Oh my goodness. Are you okay?”

Gon nodded at her.

“I’m going out, so I don’t need breakfast. Okay?”

His head disappeared beneath the seas of her mind. Bobbing once, and then twice, before disappearing forever.

“Gon!”

She shot to her feet.

“Where are you going? Gon, please,” Mito said, unsure what to say to keep Gon’s head above water.

The flash of brilliant white teeth smiled out beneath two dark clouds of under eye circles. So quickly Mito might have just wished it into being.

“I’m gonna go help with the haul, this morning. We got a call last night while you were sleeping. I offered to go so you could relax this morning.”

Mito deflated. She got so dizzy she had to sit down. Gon grabbed for the coffee cup that threatened to tip over as she jostled the table.

“Aunt Mito?” Gon asked, setting the cup down with one hand while reaching for her shoulder with the very tips of his fingers.

“I’m sorry, Gon, you startled me,” she said, realizing it wasn’t really the lie she’d set out to tell. “Are you sure you’re feeling up for it?”

Gon looked confused.

“Of course. I can help, so I will.”

Mito blinked back.

“You keep saying I need to get out of the house.”

Untrue. She had stopped saying that, softly and encouragingly, or sharp and insistently, weeks ago.

Gon shrugged one shoulder a little bit. “I’m gonna go. It’ll be nice to be near the sea.”

How could she argue with him, now?

“Oh,” she said.

It was unmistakable to see the shame on Gon’s face as he nodded again at her, and wished her a good morning. After all, she’d raised Gon from infancy. She had seen him carry toads into the house in his pockets, and with hands covered in dusting sugar, hangdog with his guilt and embarrassment at being caught.

“Wait,” she said after him as he was about to exit the house. He turned to her so quickly, it really did look like he was 7 years old again, naughty, hopeful and afraid all in one twist of his body.

He waited for Mito to approach, and he flinched as she pulled her younger, taller de facto son into her arms. She hugged him, and sighed with relief when he hugged her back.

“I’ll see you at dinner?” she asked when the pulled apart. He smiled at her.

“Of course.”

She waved at him from the kitchen window when he left. He waved back, once, and shouted something she couldn’t hear. 

Maybe it was a confession. Whatever it was, in her heart, she knew she’d already absolved him.

\----

It was awful realizing how weak he’d become since last he’d offered to help haul, sort, separate and then clean a king’s ransom of fish. He began to ache so much sooner after bending to grab armloads of cages, and as he moved quick and rhythmic to clean hundreds and hundreds of fish. He leaned over to wipe sweat from his brow, hoping to avoid anymore notice.

Because, it seemed, the entire village had noticed him that morning. He heard his name from old family friend and distant acquaintances alike. It was a strangely warm morning, and his heart raced every time his name was called.

Sometimes they said his name with jocular sincerity, sometimes with concern, sometimes sharp with judgment about how he’d neglected to see them for so long.

It was a stray comment, following behind and nipping at Gon, teeth sharp and small, leaving what felt like a raised, red welt on his neck and shoulder.

“That’s the one Margerie told me about. Came home stinking of siren. Wanders by the shore looking for the blood sucker to come take him away, and bring all of our roofs down on our heads when the sea throws them both back out when she’s sick to her stomach of it.”

\----

Two images flashed in his mind, no matter how much he avoided them, unasked for and unforgettable.

Scales colored a blue deeper than ocean water, and brighter than the sky, flashing through the foaming waves.

And.

Those same scales crusted with red blood and green ichor, belly towards the sun, floating on the waves, lifeless.

He just wanted to be close to it. The crashing surf, and scent of brine. It had always reassured him, even a child, when his heart sat at the bottom of his spine while he imagined the distant lands that Ging was visiting, far, far away from Gon. It was the same ocean, wherever you go, which meant he was only a decision away from seeing his father again.

He could make another decision.

The fish were slimy and cold. Handling them left his fingers so numb that the momentary breaks between loads made them ache as the blood pumped under his skin.

Another image flashed in his mind.

His aunt Mito standing on the dock, sobbing, begging him to come back. The way he’d left her the first time.

Would she even come to the docks if he left again? Or would that finally crush her forever, leaving their relationship dangling by a wet, red ligament?

The shift finished before the noon sun could do any damage. A few of the workers invited Gon to the pub, the very one his aunt worked at.

She would be called by her friends, delighted to hear he was joining the other men and women of the docks for drinks.

“No thanks, but I’ll see you all tomorrow,” he said, waving, as the one who invited him shrugged and headed in the other direction, towards her friends. Gon didn’t go home right away. He used a few coins from the day’s pay for a parcel of food, and headed towards the cape east of town.

There was nothing to see but bare and wind swept rocks overlooking the impossibly long horizon of the sea.  
Gon sat down to watch the sun disappear into the sea. Without realizing it, he shook his head like a dog leaving the water every time he imagined jumping into the ocean alongside the sun.

\----

“What do you want?”

Gon’s answer could not be found on their small island.

Both he and Mito had known this since he was very small.

When he returned many hours after work had ended, stone cold sober while his fellows would have stumbled home drunk, Mito could stomach no more.

“What are you waiting for?”

Gon didn’t understand. 

“Are you angry, Aunt Mito?”

Of course, she was. She didn’t understand it until the breath froze in her lungs. She remembered learning the only sailor’s truism. 

Breathe deep when you’re already drowning, and it’ll be over that much quicker. 

“Yes, Gon, I am.” 

She had never heard him raise his voice in anger.

“What the fuck do you want from me?!” Gon shouted, with a dry and rough voice. 

Mito left the room. Before she did so, however, she answered him. 

“Staying here makes you miserable, and being happy here is impossible for you. No matter what, I need you to leave.”

The words were a pocket knife to a taut fishing line. He could breathe again, even if her words, and the bag with little more than a few change of clothes on his back, were as painful as a fishing hook left in his lip. 

\----

Gon intended to beg for free passage in exchange for whatever bilge water hauling job the first vessel out of harbor needed help with, but when the captain saw the youngest Freecss kid standing on the dock, without a job, he offered him one on the spot. 

The ship would leave in less than an hour. Gon ran as fast as his burning lungs would bear to the far cliffs. 

He knew no one would hear them, but he still needed to say his goodbyes. 

Everyone who traveled anywhere by the sea would eventually make it to Whale Island. There was no variety of human that could surprise him anymore. 

The hair was as white as sea foam, and the skin paler still, and Gon’s breath stopped when he was startled. 

The boy wasn’t really a boy, he was a man, just like Gon, but his face was impossibly soft and youthful. He wore short pants, torn at the knees, and a white tunic. He wore no shoes. Gon saw the back of him, first, hair caught in the sea wind like a flag of surrender. 

Maybe that was why Gon had the courage to approach, even though his blood was on fire and his brain was wracked with the terror of seeing the completely alien. 

The boy who wasn’t a boy, and was only barely a man, turned. He was a little taller than Gon. 

He looked at Gon with a face that probably mirrored Gon’s for a moment. Shocked and startled. 

And then Gon’s friend smiled. 

“You are Gon.” 

It wasn’t a question, but still, Gon answered. 

“I think so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, biznitches.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on tumblr, aka the blue hellsite.  
> [murderxbaby.tumblr.com.](https://murderxbaby.tumblr.com/)


End file.
